


The One with the Spear Hole in it

by muldezgron



Series: To Know and Be Known [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Blow Jobs, Glory Hole, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Surprise Ending, Uncircumcised Penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25890562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muldezgron/pseuds/muldezgron
Summary: The best swordsman in all of Morrowind decides he needs some quality time to relax after a job. Turns out even a bath club in Raven Rock can harbor some surprises.
Relationships: Teldryn Sero/Surprise Canonical Character
Series: To Know and Be Known [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980157
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	The One with the Spear Hole in it

> In the 15th Sermon of Vivec, the head of Vivec returns to his body, which had laid for 88 days in matrimony with Molag Bal, Third Corner of the House of Troubles. Out of pity for the Prince of Domination, Vivec "bit new words onto" Molag Bal's "spear". "This has since become a forbidden ritual," the Sermon declares, "though people still practice it in secret."
> 
> Typical of the Tribunal, it seemed, to so nakedly make "do as I say, not as I do" the Law of the Land. In the time of ALMSIVI, being caught by the Order of Inquisition "profaning the name of the Three", and being caught by the Order "spear-biting", carried roughly equal sentences of jail time and Corporal Re-education. Even if only one mer was arrested, you could be sure his lovers would soon follow.
> 
> So Dunmer did as Dunmer always have when faced with a problem, and came up with a solution made of secrets: if you never knew whose "spear" you were "biting", all arrests stopped at you. Safety in numbers: faceless numbers. "Why, it could have been anyone on the other side of that spear hole, High Ordinator," one House Hlaalu merchant is quoted as having said during interrogation. "For I all know, it could have been _you_."
> 
> (A word of advice from history: though very ballsy, it was ultimately Bad For One's Health to suggest the High Ordinator of the Order of Inquisition sucks cocks at spear holes. Even if it was probably true.)
> 
> — _A Thoroughly Impolite History of Resdaynia, Vol 2_ , by Tethys Nirian

_

Two solid weeks wading knee-deep through the swamps of Hjaalmarch, escorting an oblivious Breton scholar performing a botanical survey of the area. Was it worth the money? Yes. Did that mean he enjoyed it? Absolutely not—it was a wretched job in a wretched place, and Teldryn Sero never thought he'd be so glad to take his pay and grab the first ship back to Solstheim. At least it was dry. And didn't smell like swamp gas.

There was plenty more work to be had in Skyrim, certainly. But if Nords had better ideas on how to enjoy their downtime than to drink, sing the same three tavern songs out of key, and punch each other's lights out, he hadn't seen them yet.

After those two weeks, he was going to need to spend a long, long time in a bath club. Something to take his mind off the memory of personally wading through Morthal's "most prolific algae bloom in a hundred years".

_

The bath club in Raven Rock, of course, had no actual baths. It had been converted from an abandoned East Empire Company warehouse. There was a door fee to get in, "to prevent overcrowding", which seemed to use a very different definition for overcrowding than most establishments. There was a "bar" which served no drinks. Bring your own food, bring your own drinks—a flask of sujamma from the Retching Netch was a popular choice—but leave your weapons at the door, or better yet, at home. Mingle with the crowd near the "bar", engage in scintillating conversation with sailors, unemployed ex-miners, off-duty Redoran guards, awkward married men, and the occasional reaver trying to pretend very poorly to be an ordinary citizen of Raven Rock, as if anyone cared. Eventually, of course, you would make your way through the mass to the bar to request a jug of water and a towel.

This was the part that inevitably sorted out the Dunmer from everyone else. Not by intent. There was no literal ban on Nords or Imperials, or anyone else, though possibly there should have been one on Khajiit if the rumors about them were true. No, it was that once you turned the corner and entered the hall leading to the baths, you'd be expected to know at least Three Eras worth of underground etiquette and rules with absolutely no documented explanation, passed on solely through word of mouth.

And a secret code consisting only of small hand signals.

And a different secret code of standardized knocking sequences.

Newcomers tended to find that a bit daunting.

A bit of a shame, Teldryn thought as he brought his jug and towel into a vacant "bath" and closed the door behind him. It was a brilliant idea in practice, really. A great equalizer. You did not know, and did not care, who was in the adjoining bath. Rich? Good-looking? Charming? None of the above? It didn't matter. Follow the rules and you'd have the same experience as anyone else. No awkward mornings after, no mismatched expectations, no broken hearts three months down the line. Just you, Someone, and a waterproofed wall between you.

With a spear hole in it, of course.

Teldryn had just finished getting himself fully out of his chitin armor, carefully setting it on the seat of a chair in the corner, when he heard the click of the other door opening and shutting, followed by the telltale thud of clothes and armor hitting the floor.

Someone's eager, he thought with a smile, and knocked quietly on the wall—the "hello, I am here and ready" knock, meant to avoid the awkward situation of making hand gestures at an empty room. His knuckles had barely left the surface when the return "hello, I am here and ready" began, hurried, and a bit on the loud side. A very eager someone indeed. Teldryn grinned and bent down, finding a comfortable position to settle. He always liked the eager ones.

He had just begun to reach for the hole when a gloved finger poked through, curling upwards and back, beckoning. An invitation to go first.

Teldryn hesitated. Normally he preferred to work through a few cocks to warm up, which wouldn't take a particularly long amount of time, since most arrived already hard from anticipation and lasted a few minutes, at most. He'd stroke himself as he worked, signaling it was fine to leave without reciprocation, and would gradually build the kind of raging erection that he was always pleased to see emerging from the hole. When he felt ready for his turn, he'd be finished as quickly as anyone else, but the slow burn made it _so_ much more satisfying.

This finger, though. This finger, slowly tracing lazy circles around the lacquered edge of the spear hole as it retreated back to its side.

A delicious shiver ran through him.

Teldryn stood up, leaned on the wall, and carefully fed his half-hard cock through the hole. Hopefully the lack of a warm up wouldn't be a problem. Worst case scenario, he'd hear the sound of the other door slamming if they didn't like what they saw.

Ungloved fingertips softly traced his length, feathering, pressureless, more exploration than friction. He felt warm breath against his shaft on one side as they came to rest just shy of the tip, pressing gently on either side of the head through his foreskin.

And then, unexpectedly: soft, rapid-fire little kisses along his length. He managed to keep himself from laughing but a smile still broke through. What kind of romantic f—

His thoughts and his breath were interrupted by the fingers suddenly, expertly twitching his foreskin back and forth over the crown of his cock. Precisely, exactly the right amount of pressure, favoring the right side more than the left, just like he would if he were touching himself.

A groan escaped him, and he uselessly ground his hips against the wall. The pace was just shy of unbearable, his cock quickly reaching and rushing past the erection he would have built up to, and then—a sudden stop. Hands off.

His heart was pounding. He could feel his cock quivering, shaking, begging for what felt like an age.

Kisses resumed along his shaft, starting as far down as the hole would allow. He felt the tip of a nose brush against him briefly as the kisses migrated to the underside and started to introduce the smallest, softest tip-of-the-tongue licks, right where it ached the most.

Unfair, he thought, white-knuckled, pressing his whole body into the wall as if he could pass through it. Already panting and not even in their mouth yet.

As if reading his mind and deciding to show mercy, fingers softly pushed his foreskin back as lips enveloped his cock's head in warmth. A hand loosely gripped his shaft, tenderly stroking him with the same rhythm as the mouth's deceptively gentle suction.

He swore under his breath, muscles tensing and relaxing in a matching rhythm. This had to be cheating. Even if he had likely been pairing up with the same men for years, none of them could do this—no plausibly deniable unknown at a bath club in the middle of absolutely nowhere could know his body this well. This, this felt like an old lover who had memorized every inch of his skin.

He didn't want it to ever stop.

The pace started to become irregular, the sucking more forceful, almost more than Teldryn could take, until the mouth broke away with an audible gasp. The hand gripping his cock held its place, shaking, and he could feel hot, heavy breath on his still wet cock as a resonant, thundering moan shook through the wall and into his bones.

It was a fucking miracle he didn't come right there. A name he hadn't said out loud in years escaped his mouth in a breathless whisper, blessedly drowned out by the perfection.

The moan descended to a whimper and trailed off. After a moment of silence, the mouth returned to Teldryn's cock, slowly working back up to its previous pace but taking it in further now—tongue raised to press against the underside of his cock on the way in, sucking tightly on the way out.

He didn't last long before shattering completely, incoherent praise on his lips as he felt himself pouring out of himself into their mouth and onto their tongue.

They waited for him to grow still again before drawing their mouth back, carefully giving the lightest kiss to his tip before releasing him. He stumbled when he withdrew from the wall, weak-kneed and nearly drunk with satisfaction, and practically threw himself at the hole to signal an offer of reciprocation.

There was an awkwardly long silence after he withdrew his hand, and Teldryn began to worry that he had somehow insulted them with his eagerness. Soon, however, a pair of fingers—gloved once more—slowly passed back through the hole, one sheepishly crossed over the other.

The signal for "Sorry, I would love to, but I already came."

Ah. Teldryn thought back to the moan, with a shiver of mixed pleasure and disappointment. He probably should have thought of that.

He grabbed his towel from the back of the chair, wet it slightly from the jug of water and set about trying to wash off some of the smell of sweat and sex. Getting rid of the evidence was less important now than it had been in the time of Vivec, but—well, anything less would be uncivilized. In spite of himself, he found his eyes wandering back to the empty hole, listening to the sounds of rustling cloth on the other side.

No conversation; hand signals and knocking only. No lingering for hours on end if there's a line; hurry up and let someone else have a turn. And most importantly, _no peeking_. Ever.

He kept his breathing steady, but couldn't take his eyes off the spear hole. Standing upright, he couldn't see anything through it, but he wasn't sure if he stayed much longer that he'd be able to resist the temptation to crouch.

Teldryn threw his chitin armor back on as quickly as he could manage—probably insecurely tightened, definitely not checking the angle of his scarf point, helmet on crooked, doesn't matter, just get everything on, get dressed, give the "thank you goodbye" knock and get out—

He opened the door, started to walk out, caught himself about to leave without wiping down the sweat he'd left on the wall. He awkwardly performed the fastest and least thorough clean-up in his life with the door wide open. The Dunmer waiting outside with his own jug and towel threw him a withering look of disgust.

Teldryn really couldn't blame him. How utterly gauche.

He stumbled down the hall and around the corner, dumped the remaining water in the appropriate drain, threw the towel into a nearby bin, and set the jug down in its designated crate on the floor. Civilized duties fulfilled, finally.

He distantly heard the sound of another "thank you goodbye" knock.

He shouldn't look. It's against the spirit of the thing. The whole point is to Never Know.

Teldryn cautiously approached the corner and peered around it. The door to the other bath opened.

His breath hitched as a tall man in a golden mask stepped out.

The mask was an unusual design. Some kind of sea creature, with tendrils sweeping back along his head. It reminded him of superstitious pirates trying to spook fellow mercenaries with tales of kraken sightings in the Sea of Ghosts. His robes were dark, meticulously embroidered with gold, yet threadbare and frayed at the edges. Pauldrons reminiscent of the dragon heads on the roofs of Nordic longhouses, if a great hand had reached down from the sky and stretched them out like it was pulling honey floss.

He was sure he'd never seen this man before in his life. And yet, he also felt strangely familiar, like he should know him. Like he should remember.

Teldryn snapped his head back around the corner and leaned against the wall in what he hoped was a completely normal, relaxed, and not at all suspicious fashion. The man in the mask walked past him without acknowledgement, carefully fulfilling his own civilized duties. Teldryn turned away to face the crowd, still watching through his helmet's lenses—praise Azura for chitin helmets, truly—watching familiar fingers in familiar gloves place a neatly folded towel in the bin.

When the man was finished, he stepped into the crowd, weaving his way through to the bar and tapping on the wood to get the attention of a large Dunmer filling water jugs behind it. They were too far away to hear, but the man in the mask started gesturing vaguely in Teldryn's direction.

Fuck. Panic rose in his throat and he swallowed it stubbornly. No, no. Stay calm. Act natural. No rules were technically broken. The spirit of the rules, sure, but—

The Dunmer at the bar interrupted the man with obvious annoyance, setting aside the jugs and vehemently making hand gestures of... numbers? The man in the mask sheepishly drew out his coin purse and began to parse out septims as the barkeep counted every coin into his own palm.

He wasn't gesturing at Teldryn. He was gesturing at the hallway. He'd made a mess he couldn't clean up himself.

... He'd made enough of a mess he needed to _pay damages_.

Teldryn could feel the heat of his own blood rushing through every inch of his body at the thought of it. Several thoughts of it. An entire forest of thoughts of it.

Praise. Azura. For. Chitin. Helmets.

**Author's Note:**

> You have no idea how hard it was to not tag this with "Miraak Lives".


End file.
